Someone to Laugh With
by Bethofbells
Summary: I have a cat. I have an apartment. I have sole possession of the remote control. And now I have someone that I can laugh with. Jack. It's always been Jack.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I was just rewatching my favorite romantic comedy ever in the history of romantic comedies, for the billionth time, and I decided, why not write a little fic about those moments when you can clearly see them falling for each other, basically just expanding upon those scenes. Comments are appreciated, I love hearing what people have to say (if you haven't seen this movie, i'm sad for you :P)**

Lucy? Peter didn't date girls named Lucy. Peter didn't date girls who slept on his parents' living room couch. Peter wasn't interested in sweet brunettes with slightly cleft chins and kind eyes. Jack knew there was something off about the girl from the very moment he'd laid eyes on her sleeping back, delicate shoulders looking surprisingly vulnerable in the glow of the christmas lights.

So, he waited for her the next morning. Sitting on the stairs with his coffee and paper, thumbing through the obituaries as she slept quietly in the next room, occasionally a soft snore drifting up to his ears. There was something about the way his kid sister said the word fiance, a little bit of awe mixed with love, as if she'd already become attached to the woman. It fascinated Jack. The kind of women Peter dated had never inspired such instant adoration from his family.

So, it was with patient interest that he finished his coffee, and flipped over to the sports section, only glancing at his watch once or twice. He couldn't have told anyone why it was so important that he feel out this Lucy woman, couldn't have said why his heart picked up its beat when he heard the tell-tale sounds of her stirring.

She walked right through his line of vision, surreptitiously moving for the door, almost tiptoeing in her attempt to sneak away unnoticed. He took one last swallow of his now cold coffee. "Good morning."

His friendly greeting startled her, eking out a surprised yelp, quickly muffled by a hand flying to cover her mouth. Jack felt a smile tug at the corner of his own. There was something about her, an endearing quality that pulled at him when the brief fear on her face was replaced by a sweet smile. Her eyes lit up. "Oh, you scared me."

"Sorry." He felt bad? The sensation in his chest was undefinable for him, a breathlessness he hadn't felt since falling out of an elm tree as a child. The breath had been knocked out of him them, his diaphragm refusing to function. It was odd that it was happening now, and even though it had totally been his intention to catch her off guard, make some sort of snap decision about her, he still felt contrite, a little shame settling in his chest for his choice to ambush her.

"Good morning, Jack."

His name on her lips was the last thing he needed, driving home the last little bit of guilt over his seemingly misplaced doubt. "Um…" How was it possible that his brother had dated this woman? Had fallen in love with her? And still somehow not introduced her to him? He felt like he'd missed out on something . "I guess I don't remember meeting you."

"Well, that's probably because we've never met."

She tilted her head, and for the first time pointed her sweet smile directly at him. There it was again, the breathlessness. He swallowed to eradicate the feeling. "That might have something to do with it."

Jack was struck by the sudden need to prolong their conversation, an awkward little chuckle escaped his throat as he fumbled with the coffee mug. Nothing immediately came to mind, so he just stared at her, the smile on her face slowly falling as the silence stretched out.

Inspiration struck, and he opened his mouth to invite her out for coffee, a walk down to the nearest diner to have a quick breakfast. What? He needed to get to know his future sister-in-law, right? She was going to be family after all.

He was saved, or maybe thwarted (he'd have to decide later) by an impatient honking in the street. Relief washed over her face, glad to have an excuse to end the quietly awkward conversation. "Ooh… cab. I have to go, um. I'm really late...cause… I have to…go." She cleared her throat, edging to the door. "But, uh, it was nice to meet you. Jack." She nodded, continuing to mumble to herself as she escaped, hand on the doorknob.

He didn't understand it, but there was something about Lucy, some magnetic field pulling him to her, some invisible rope tied around his waist, the yanked at him when she was about to leave. Some insane voice in his head telling him over and over again not to let her go. He, quite irrationally he would freely admit, felt like he was losing her. He quietly wondered if he'd fallen and hit his head sometimes yesterday, as his legs propelled him off the stairs toward her. "Lucy."

Great. Conversational master, at it again. He groaned inwardly, ready to apologize, but she interrupted him, looking exceptionally disconcerted, a frown transforming her whole face. "Look. I know that I, um…"

Why had he been waiting for her? His mind was blank, or rather, filled completely with something he'd never expected, and whatever small suspicions he'd had about this woman were temporarily tossed out the window. All he needed right now was to know her. He wanted to know why she was so skittish around him, why she needed to leave his parents house so clandestinely. He needed to know more about her, everything about her. He suddenly felt desperate. "Hey…"

The single syllable word had something of a calming effect on her, her features smoothing temporarily as she looked up at him in inquiry. "Hmm?"

He liked her. How was that possible in such a short time? He'd never liked any of his brother's girlfriends. The reminder that Lucy was in fact his brother's fiance washed over him, disappointment settling in his stomach inexplicably. Yes, inexplicably, because it wasn't possible to fall for someone in two minutes. Love at first sight was… well it wasn't real, and you most certainly didn't fall in love with your brother's fiance at first sight. Nope. He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Welcome to the family."

Little did he know, that was the one thing he needed to say, the one thing that Lucy so desperately longed to hear. She smiled at him, almost against her own will. "Oh, thank you." It was a short acknowledgement of his acceptance before she slipped out the front door, hiding the smile that had spread completely across her face, but she couldn't resist popping back in to look at him one last time. "Bye."

The door shut with a heavy thud. Jack felt a fluttering in his chest, a little grin once again forming on his face. Lucy? Yes, Lucy. His brother's fiance. The smile faded. She was a nice girl. Peter was a lucky guy, aside from the fact that he was currently in a coma, lucky still. Disappointment crept back into jack, seeping into his chest. Damn Peter.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm having fun writing this little fic, even though almost no one is reading it :P. Jack and Lucy are adorable to me.**

Jack wasn't the kind of guy to get overly preoccupied with something. He fully ignored the grating sensation in his ears when his dad started talking about the family business, and the claustrophobic feeling enveloping when he thought about the path his life was certain to take. Things were easily pushed to the back of his mind, where they belonged. Lucy was just another one of those things.

Hell, he'd only just met her, it shouldn't be that hard to wave away the image her her smiling face, to ignore the dissatisfaction he felt when his mother started talking about Peter and Lucy's impending wedding, completely forgetting the fact that the prospective groom was in a coma. It shouldn't have been hard at all, and yet he found himself thinking of her at the most inappropriate times.

It was just normal brotherly concern, he told himself, that led his thoughts to her so often. Really, being out of her naturally warm presence allowed him to look at things more clearly, and while not entirely suspicious of her any longer, he still couldn't shake a curiosity that drove him to ask about her, marveling at the odd sensation of her name on his lips.

She just wasn't Peter's type. Not that Peter's type was anything to aspire to, not that Lucy needed to change anything about herself, but Jack seriously doubted that his brother, noted philanderer, would do right by Lucy in the long run. And that made Jack angry, and that anger made him feel guilty. Peter wasn't even conscious, he couldn't defend himself against Jack's silently cast aspersions. Jack told himself to keep his distance, let the chips fall where they would after Peter inevitably woke up. Lucy could figure these things out for herself. It was just that she was so completely alone, from what he'd been told, and he felt like she should have someone looking out for her. But she was an adult, she didn't need him to protect her.

Just stay away from her. That was the mantra running through his head as he lowered his foot down on the accelerator, craning his neck as he looked down the street, trying to pick out the building that matched the address in his pocket. He didn't think about what his actions said, how he'd gone out of his way to find out where she lived. He was concerned though, if she was truly in love with his brother, she might not be taking this whole situation as well as she seemed. He lied to himself, pretending concern was what drew him out here.

He pulled into an open space, slipping the little piece of paper at his pocket to check the address one more time. It definitely wasn't what he'd been expecting. It wasn't exactly a bad neighborhood, but Peter's taste tended to run expensive, and it was hard to imagine a nice girl from this side of town just running into his brother at some swanky downtown club. Slowly, the suspicion began to creep back into him, although he was yet to compose a credible motive for her possible deception.

He was frozen to the spot, a sudden wave of clarity crashed over him followed by burning embarrassment. Concern for Peter was really the last damn thing on his mind. What the hell was he doing? He didn't even know if Lucy actually lived here, and he was searching for her like some deranged lunatic intent on… intent on what? He had no idea what his purpose was. All he really knew, but wouldn't allow himself to contemplate, was that he wanted to see her again, to hear her nervous little laugh when talking about herself.

He told himself to put the truck back in gear and go home, but his feet hit the pavement before he could even finish the thought. He cleared his throat, unaccustomed to the strange tightness there. He didn't have to see her, he could do some discreet reconnaissance, leave quietly if everything seemed alright.

He looked around for someone to interrogate about his new prospective family member, his eyes lighting on a cartoonish man, grumbling about wingnuts and flailing around with a hammer. He looked like he was from around here, fluffed up hair reminiscent of the last Hawaii 5-0 movie, the look completed by the impossibly thin gold chain fluttering in the breeze against his not so white undershirt. The man looked like he was an extra in _Goodfellas _or something, his mirrored sunglasses perched on his nose, reflecting the very overcast sky.

He folded the paper nervously in his hands, creasing it one extra time before approaching the man. "Excuse me. Do you live here?"

"Live here?" He snorted derisively, reaching up to remove his totally unnecessary aviators, gesturing with them dramatically. "I _own_ this place."

Jack stifled the urge to laugh at the ridiculous man. He would bet his left foot that Mr. Hawaii 5-0 didn't even own the hoopty he was intent on pouring oil into."Oh, right.. uh, well then you would know the woman who lives in 201."

"Know her? I'm dating her." The cheeseball adjusted the waste of his pants, tucking his thumbs underneath the belt in an amusing display of machismo. At least it would have been amusing, if Jack hadn't suddenly been accosted by the same inexplicable breathlessness he'd been suffering from for the past two days, this time accompanied by a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Lucy Moderatz?" He pointed at the man, the volume of his voice surprising him somewhat. "_You're_ dating Lucy?" His voice was tinged with disbelief, a hint of disgusting riding along the syllables. "Average height, dark hair, Lucy?"

Jack didn't realize it, but his mouth was hanging open. The object of his derision looked at him, extremely offended. "Yeah. Lucy Moderatz, is dating me, Joe Fusco." He set the oil down on the ground, walking up to Jack and crossing his arms. "You got a problem with that?"

Many times in Jack's life he'd been in this position. Two roosters eyeing each other, sizing up the competition. How could Lucy be with someone like this? This overblown caricature of a man? He stood there silently, for a few minutes, before realizing that Lucy wasn't his to compete over, in any sense at all really. He felt deflated, running his hand through his hair.

Shaking his head he backed away from the angry little man, hands up in surrender. "No problem, man." He turned away before Joe could formulate a reply. This little visit had opened up an entirely unexpected can of worms, one that he couldn't deal with right now. It would have been easier if he could just look at this situation dispassionately, but he'd grown surprisingly fond of what Lucy represented.

She was warm, open hearted, and from what his family had told him, she was brave, jumping down on the train tracks to save his brother. Hell, if he could have just believed that she was with Peter, she would have been eligible for sainthood, having turned his shallow but charming brother into a faithful monogamist. He'd been cultivating this perfect image of her in his head, and was severely disappointed to learn that Lucy wasn't the person he'd thought.

There was also a little bit of guilt mixed in with his disappointment, because he was secretly pleased that she couldn't possibly love Peter. That he had a chance, against this other bozo, this Joe Fusco. Damn it, Peter didn't deserve that either. He thumped the steering with his palm, shoving his wayward thoughts to the back of his mind.

He should be more concerned about his own family than some random woman they'd just met. He pulled out into the street, heading for Peter's apartment. He would put Lucy out of his mind, go to Peter's and collect a few things. Maybe having some objects from his own place would help bring his brother back to the world of the living. Lucy was just a distraction right now. He was going to focus his energy on getting Peter back. No more wasting energy on something irrelevant.

He sighed. Jack wasn't very good at lying to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: At some point this little story will stray from canon, but this is not that point. Anyone who comes upon this little fic is strongly encouraged to comment. :D**

Jack saw stars. Pain, sharp and unrelenting, shot through his head. It wouldn't have surprised him to wake up in a hospital, the second Callaghan brother to be put into a coma in the vicinity of sweet little Lucy. The spots cleared quickly, leaving him hovering over her, hand covering his abused nose. God, she'd gotten him good, the pain reminiscent of the time Peter had walloped him across the face with a baseball bat. Jack still wasn't sure if that particular incident had been intentional or not. Peter was a tough case to read sometimes.

But this was Lucy, and there wasn't a shadow of a doubt that it had been an accident. Actually, one could conceivably lay the blame at his own feet, sneaking up on her the way he had. And now, she looked so damned apologetic, fumbling with the ice, he wanted nothing more than to ease her conscience. "Hey, how'd you get in here?"

It wasn't exactly what he'd intended to ask, but suddenly he was a man who asked questions with fairly obvious answers, ones that would probably inexplicably twist his insides around.

She was still flustered, tiny wisps of hair floating gently against her flushed skin as she dipped one more time to pick up the ice she'd scattered across the floor, popping up like a jack in the box to stare at him anxiously. "A key?"

Of course she had a key to Peter's apartment. It would have been strange for her not to, right? Almost instant, the image of Lucy snuggled up in bed, waking up at some ridiculously late hour, with his smooth operating brother flashed into his mind. It was decidedly unsettling. "Oh, a key. You stay here a lot, huh?"

Damn, it had been easy to misinterpret the feelings swirling around inside of him before. Finding her oddly likable while still entertaining a healthy suspicion could certainly be credited with the strange fluttering in his chest. But, at this very moment, Jack was accosted by a feeling that was irritatingly familiar. Jealousy.

He pulled slightly away from her, focusing on the ice melting in his hand, the cool water dripping down his fingers. He didn't know what to do with it. He certainly wasn't putting it against his face. And she was babbling about something. He hadn't really been paying attention, floored as he was by his sudden realization. He tossed the ice in the floor when she wasn't looking, finally regaining his normal attentiveness.

"... and you know, feed the cat."

His head snapped up. "Peter doesn't have a cat." The assertion was hastily made, and in all honestly Jack wouldn't have known whether Peter had a cat, a dog, or even some poor neglected goldfish. He hadn't had a lot of contact with his brother in recent years, but it seemed like a safe bet that the high rolling slick lawyer, wouldn't have time for a pet. He felt temporarily vindicated. Maybe he'd been right about little Miss Moderatz all along.

_Meow. _Well hell. The little gray ball of fluff stepped tentatively into the kitchen, and Jack, not for the first time since he'd met the woman standing near him, felt like an ass. It was like a dream to him, one in which he jumped to exactly the wrong conclusions.

He shook himself. He couldn't let this one little thing swerve him back to admiring her. It was a lot easier to find her questionable, than to let himself fall even further toward her. She still had some things to answer for. Well, one thing really. Joe Fusco, a rather large and loud thing. He followed her as she gently collected the kitty, setting the food on Peter's polished granite counter.

She couldn't have been here long. The oversized trench coat still hanging off her shoulders, a fuzzy scarf still wrapped around her neck. Had she come here immediately after work, concern for the feline the first thing to fill her mind after she punched out? The thought softened him a little, an amused smile on his face as he listened to her baby talk to the animal.

He liked observing her when she was unaware. The nervous anxiety that permeated her when she was in close contact with him or his family members evaporated, and he felt like he was getting a glimpse of the real Lucy. She treaded so lightly with the Callaghans, almost afraid that she would be rejected if she relaxed a little. It was strange to him that she could see it. His whole family was already head over heels in love with her. The _whole _family.

His dangerously wandering thoughts were interrupted by the harsh tone of Peter's phone ringing. She didn't seem entirely comfortable in Peter's place, and this was the perfect opportunity to test whether or not she really belonged here. Let's not forget about Joe, ok. "You gonna get that?"

There was only the briefest moment of hesitation on her face, and he was certain that if he'd blinked he would have missed it, but it was there. She returned to petting the cat, avoiding his gaze. "Oh no, I'm, uh, gonna let the machine get it."

The ringing continued as she pointedly ignored it, the animal getting all of her attention, slender fingers slipping through the silky fur. Dragging his gaze away from her delicate hands he reached for the phone. Maybe the person on the other line would be just as surprised that Lucy Moderatz was in Peter Callaghan's apartment. He brought the receiver to his mouth, his back to her. "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Martha Andrews, calling from Northwestern Memorial Hospital for Ms. Lucy Moderatz." He sighed, once again flooded with the surreal sensation the he was in a dream, making all the wrong assumptions.

Turning to her, he held the receiver out in front of him, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. "It's for you."

Her surprised, but pleased little smile, tugged at him. A swirling in his stomach distracting him from the fact that she was now completely aware of his intent to unveil her as an imposter of some sort. Her fingers grazed his hand as she took the phone from his grasp.

He fidgeted while she talked, glancing around his brother's apartment. It was nice, a little cold, but there was a great view. He could see how easy it would be to bring a woman up here at night, let her look out across the city at all sparkling lights. Murmur some cliche yet romantic words in to her ear. Women would eat this place up.

Of course, his thoughts drifted back to the one woman who'd been invading them with regularity. Had Peter done that with her? Wrapped some diaphanous sheet around the two of them while they gazed out the giant windows after making love? The thought irritated him, and he pushed it away quickly, grateful that she was finally done with her phone call.

"That was the hospital. They say it's customary for friends and family to come down and give blood."

She looked hopeful, as if maybe this was the perfect excuse to get rid of him. She bit her bottom lip, in a way he'd come to notice. Was it a tell? Did she do it when she felt particularly caught out? The only way to find out would be to spend more time with her. Jack found the idea to be more pleasant than he would care to admit. It was in the name of looking out for this brother. That was all. He had to figure out what Lucy's game was. "Let's go together."

He wanted to find out all of her tells, to know what made this woman tick. It wasn't to get closer to her peaches and cream skin, to find out if it felt as soft as it looked, or to find out if the little flip his stomach did when she said his name was some sort of fluke. It was just for his brother. It was all really very simple. He certainly didn't want to know if her dark hair would feel like silk slipping through his fingers. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes after she pulled the car out of the parking structure, Jack suggesting gently that she turn the radio on. She raised her hand, hovering uncertainly in front of the collection of knobs adorning the dash, her fingers fluttering in the air as she tried to decide which one to flick.

She tested out a few with little effect, frowning slightly as she glanced back and forth between the road and her fingers. Jack reached up helpfully knocking her hand away, a little tingling sensation where his skin met hers. Wordlessly he turned the large knob on the left, tuning in to a local station.

She drew away from him, tucking her free hand in her lap. She glanced at Jack from the corner of her eye, a shaky little breath the only thing giving away her nerves. "Um, Peter…. well, he doesn't like other people driving his car…" She trailed off, her statement sounding suspiciously like a question. "I mean, we live close enough…"

He wasn't going to save her from the awkward lull in the conversation, more certain now than ever that Lucy was deserving of his suspicions. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as they drew near the hospital. "Peter and I…. you see, we…" She was stammering, a slight flush creeping up her neck as she studiously avoided looking at him. "We haven't gone out much." The words spilled out in a rush.

The embarrassment oozing from her every pore washed over Jack in a wave. Had Peter made her feel like he was hiding her? That son of a bitch. Well, not exactly a son of a bitch, they were brothers after all, but still. Why would Peter do that to a girl like Lucy? She was beautiful, and had never displayed anything other than caring kindness toward all the people he'd seen her interact with. Jack suddenly felt guilty, for thinking so vehemently that she wasn't his brother's type, playing into the same thing that had obviously caused her pain in the past. "Peter can be an idiot."

She smiled, not glancing over at him again, the flush on her cheeks diffusing over the delicate skin of her ears, a little chuckle escaping her. The sound set Jack's stomach to churning, pleasure thrumming through his veins. Making Lucy laugh could easily turn into a full time occupation if he let it. Finally she hazarded another glance at him, this time catching his admiring stare. He cleared his throat sheepishly. "Um, I mean, when he's not lying in a coma in the hospital on Christmas." He ran his hand through his hair, feeling like an idiot. "I guess I gotta cut the guy some slack, head injury and all."

She dipped her head to hide the broad smile flashing across her face. "Peter's a good egg sometimes." They pulled into the parking structure alongside the hospital. "We've arrived, and without incident I'm proud to say. I can't even remember the last time I drove a car."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Are you kidding? I could have driven. Do you even have a license?"

She shrugged, ignoring his shocked expression as she scooted out of the driver's seat, heading straight for the hospital entrance. He scrambled after her, slamming the door behind him. She glanced over her shoulder at his advancing figure. "Of course I have a license… somewhere. I used to drive everywhere back in Wisconsin, but when I moved here, I sold my car. The public transit system here is ace." She grinned at him. "I would know, too."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge rest his palm protectively along her lower back as they crossed the street. "Yeah, but that means a lot of walking, and this is Chicago, it can get dangerous at night."

Her little smile faltered just a little. "I can take care of myself, Jack. I've been doing it long enough."

"Of course." They slipped into the elevator, Jack punching the button before she could. He was quiet. He didn't like that Lucy had to take care of herself, not that she couldn't. Obviously she'd been doing just fine, but how had Peter not been concerned with these things? Sure, she didn't need someone to take care of her, but how could Peter not want to do it anyway?

They lapsed into silence again, both staring at the numbers as they lit up. The elevator suddenly seemed impossibly small. they were standing close, too close. He could see the smooth skin of her neck just under the collar of her coat, the flyaways framing her face falling down to brush against her lightly fluttering pulse. Jack felt warm under the collar and unzipped his coat. The doors slid open before he could come up with something to say, something to diffuse the tension around them. She strode out into the hall, oversized trench coat flaring around her as she glanced back at him. "Let's go get drained of our vital fluids." She was smiling again, much to Jack's relief, and he followed her out into the hall.

He groaned, belatedly remembering his aversion to needles. "There are far more pleasant ways to accomplish that."

Her eyes widened, and he snapped his mouth shut. Shit. Now he was thinking of those infinitely more pleasant ways, unable to shake the image of her flushed skin from his mind. He stammered, his fingers once again finding their way into his hair, but she merely laughed, flouncing away from him.

Was he drunk? No, this wasn't that kind of wooziness, although there was a creeping grayness around the edges of his vision which was distinctly reminiscent of staring down the second half a good sized bottle of tequilla. This wasn't the same thing. First of all, there was a sweet, definitely not drunk brunette sitting to his left. Second of all, these weren't bar stools they were perched on, but rather half inclined hospital beds, and (even though he dare not look, for fear of crossing the line between consciousness and blackness) he was pretty sure there was a needle sticking in his forearm. Why was he doing this?

He heard Lucy's soft laugh and cautiously opened his eyes once more. She wasn't totally unaffected by their hematological past-time. There was a far off look in her eyes, and she was smiling like a small child who'd just been given a very large lollipop. "Jack, I really like your family."

He sighed, unable to hang on to his former suspicion. There was fog around him, and he struggled to walk through it. "It likes you too… I mean, we…" He trailed off.

"The whole family?" She suddenly looked shy, and he wanted more than anything in the world to reach across the gap between their beds and sweep the hair out of her face, to run his rough hands along the soft skin of her cheek. Instead he just nodded.

She smiled, letting out a little hum before her eyes drifted shut. "You too, Jack?"

Her voice was genuinely unsure, the question hanging in the air between them. Of course he liked her. He liked her too much, more than a brother should like his future sister-in-law. In fact, 'like' was probably the wrong word. "Yeah… Peter's lucky to have found you."

She brought her thumb up to her mouth, worrying at the nail. There it was again, that typical nervousness whenever Peter's name came up. Jack was at a loss for it's cause. "We'll have to get your picture, for the mantle." Even though he'd been fighting it, she'd quickly become a part of the family.

She looked at him sharply, tearing her gaze away from her hands. "O-of me?"

"No, of you and Peter."

She smiled, bashfully once again, a little thrill of happiness running through her. His throat tightened a little, as she shook her head. "I-I'm not that… photogenic." She laughed a little, averting her gaze from his.

He was swimming again, feeling light headed as her laugh tinkled in his ears. Just how much blood had they siphoned off of him? He stole another glance, taking in the curve of her smile, her sooty lashes splayed against the creamy skin of her cheek when she blinked. Unphotogenic? How ridiculous. "I doubt that." The words came out quietly, and if she heard them she pretended not to.

The edges were getting gray again, and now his suspicion of her was fueled by an entirely different motivation. He didn't want her to be Peter's fiance. He didn't want her to be anything to his brother. Even if it meant discovering some nefarious scheme, or something more innocent yet still unpleasant. He didn't care, as long as it meant she wasn't Peter's. He opened his mouth to interrogate her, but a white wall in the form of a nurse's back blocked his line of vision. "Alright, now I want you to sit here and sip this, or you'll get woozy."

The nurse's loud instructions clanged against his ears. God, who knew giving blood on an empty stomach resulted in such a hangover-like state? He shook himself, his vision filling with Lucy once again. "When did you start seeing Peter?"

He couldn't even muster the self awareness to realize his question was a bit invasive, instead just staring at her as she concentrated on the tiny paper cup in her hands. "September 17th."

He'd hardly expected her to be so specific. His blood deprived brain struggled to calculate how long that meant she'd been seeing his brother. "Three months… that's quick."

"You have no idea." She downed whatever was in the little cup, pushing away from the hospital bed, her balance still a little off, startling the nurse as she snuck away.

"Th-that's fast… too f.." He was referring to how quickly she'd downed her drink, specifically ignoring the nurse's instructions, but he also thought it was too fast for Peter to propose. If anyone could be called a commitaphobe, Peter would have proudly displayed the title. Even Jack didn't believe in falling in love so quickly, at least he hadn't in the past.

He scrambled off the bed, ignoring the protests of the nurse beside him. Obviously Lucy didn't enjoy talking about Peter, and Jack wanted to push the point, wanted her to admit the truth to him, whatever that may have been.

He grabbed his jacket, chasing after Lucy. He was able to take three steps before the gray edges around his vision crept across his eyes. The last thought before he collapsed onto the green tile, was that he was pretty sure the fluttering in his chest was getting stronger, and it had nothing to do with blood loss.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm really enjoying writing this fic. Netflix is probably going to send me a worried email soon. "Are you ok? You've watched 'while you were sleeping' ten times this week." :P I'd be curious to know if anyone is reading this still. I got a couple nice comments, and I really wanted the people who left them to know how much I appreciate it.**

Jack fidgeted, plucking at the cuff of his shirt, unable to pay attention to whatever game show as currently blasting from the tv in the middle of his parents' living room. Mary kept nudging him when Ox directed a comment in his direction, but he couldn't focus on the inane chatter for more than a few minutes before his thoughts drifted away.

There was a restless energy coursing through him, tempered by a burning embarrassment. He'd been such a jerk at the hospital, his need to create a reality where Lucy wasn't connected to his brother had bulldozed any sense of proper had been too much to take, his family casually chatting about Peter and Lucy. The two had become a pair in their minds, one coming up any time the other was mentioned. It made him want to break something, and his one last little niggling doubt about her intentions had jumped out at him.

He sighed at the memory. At the very least he'd basically accused her of lying about being with Peter, and at the most of cheating on his comatose brother. Thank God she was so forgiving and sweet, a surprised snort and genuinely amused smile splitting across her face when Joe Fusco's name had passed his lips.

He'd known at that very moment what an idiot he'd been, but by that time he was already having an out of body experience, watching from afar as he made an ass of himself. Of course Joe Jr. was delusional. He'd come to that very conclusion already, having met the man once, and yet he'd kept at her, his need to somehow break whatever connection she had to his brother, blotting out his sanity. She had departed fairly quickly after the ridiculous scene. And who could blame her? Jack wouldn't have wanted to be around him either. His ears felt hot at the memory.

Mary nudged him again. "So?"

He blinked, willing away the image of Lucy with her arms crossed, glaring at him. It had definitely been a side of her he'd not been privy to before, finally seeing her personality emerge a bit. It was as though she was finally feeling secure in his family's affections. Except his. He sighed. "So… what?"

"Dad asked if you would take Lucy that loveseat from the McGregor's estate, like an engagement present or something, before you go home. So?"

Did he want to see Lucy? No, not particularly, especially not after being presented with irrefutable evidence that Peter and her… well, that they were the ones who had been 'intimate.' When she'd proven the nature of her relationship, his heart had sunk, for the first time feeling the full import of his feelings for her. It was a huge mistake to pursue any kind of contact at this point.

But Jack wasn't a bad guy, and he genuinely felt he owed Lucy an apology. He'd been so unrelenting in his mission to unveil some sort of deceit. Now that he knew it was real, whatever she had with his brother, he couldn't help but wonder how she really felt about this whole situation. The doctor's had said that Peter's prognosis was good, no real visible damage on any of the scans, but ultimately it was all up in the air. If she loved his brother, and at this point he had no reason to believe otherwise, she had to be hurting, even if she put on a brave face for his family.

"God, Jack, what is with you? You're like a million miles away." This time Mary poked him, none too gently, in the ribs.

"Hey!" He scooted away from her, casting a halfhearted glare in her direction. "Nothing.. I'm fine.. Just tired, I guess."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not believing what he said, she opened her mouth to say as much but he interrupted her. "Yeah, I'll, uh, swing by her place before I go home."

It was fine, really. He just needed to apologize for his idiotic behavior, offer her some sort of familial support. He didn't have to spend a lot of time doing it, just go over there and drop the thing off without asking rude questions.

His heart picked up its pace, a little flutter of anticipation in his chest. Damn it.

Without further comment he levered himself up off the couch, stomping to the door without making any goodbyes. He paused briefly to collect his coat from the rack in the foyer, shifting in surprise when he felt a hand on his arm. Mary.

"What is it?" He thought maybe his father had sent her with more instructions regarding his delivery.

She smiled up at him, and his currently grumpy demeanor fell away. How had she grown so much? He remembered, with startling clarity, bouncing her in his lap while she drooled happily over some brightly colored toy. "Jack, are you alright?"

"Of course."

"No, I mean. You've been acting weird today. You were all out of sorts at the hospital, and then just now…"

He chuckled, fighting the urge to ruffle his kid sister's hair. He knew she hated that. He settled instead for drawing her into a quick hug. "I'm fine. I think maybe I'm running a quart low on blood though. That's probably it."

She narrowed her eyes, gazing at him questioningly. "You like her, don't you?" Jack's mouth fell open, failing to find a response. Mary continued. "This is weird, with her being engaged to Peter and all, but I think she likes you too."

Jack's eyes widened at the concerned look on his sister's face. "Lucy?"

Mary nodded. "What if Peter never wakes up?" There was a little quiver in her last words. She loved their brother, even though she'd had relatively little contact with him after he went away for school. Jack suddenly felt like the worst sort of person. "What'll happen to Lucy if he never wakes up?"

Jack had been wondering the same thing, even though he'd tried his family's tack of pretending nothing bad was going to happen. It was a very real possibility that Peter wouldn't wake up. What then? Would Lucy just fade out of their lives? He hated himself for being more concerned with that than the state of his brother, but in the dead of night, when the weight of his day came crashing down on him, Jack thought about these things. In the fuzzy borderland between consciousness and dreamland, he sometimes thought about what it would be like to pursue Lucy freely, to tell her about all of the strange sensations he felt in her presence. Inevitably though, guilt would come crashing down on him. He couldn't do that to his brother, even in dreamland.

"Peter's going to be fine, Mary. And when he wakes up, I'm sure they'll have a beautiful wedding." The words were meant to be reassuring, but he suddenly felt like he was uttering some catastrophic prediction, his voice wavering at the end. "Maybe you can even be a bridesmaid."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the wedding, momentarily distracted from her other concerns. "Oh, Jack, do you really think she would want me to be a bridesmaid? That would be so cool." She giggled, once more her normal teenage self. She waggled her eyebrows at him. "If Peter doesn't wake up, then _you'll_ have to marry her so I can still be in a wedding."

She laughed at her little joke, giving her brother one last squeeze before skipping back down the hall to their parents. Why had she said that? Why had she put that image in his head, the one he's been so fervently avoiding? Lucy walking down the aisle toward him, an ephemeral white dress floating around her, a happy flush tinting her creamy skin. She shook his head, angrily threading his arms through the sleeves of his coat. No, he would never see that. With any luck he wouldn't even be around when Peter and Lucy tied the knot.

The door slammed behind him as he strode toward the delivery truck, grateful for the brisk air whipping against his skin. Nothing was ever more welcome than that stinging cold, reminding him of exactly what was real and what wasn't.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Closing in on my favorite scene. :D As always, if anyone read this, please feel free to leave a comment of any kind. All feed back is appreciated and read with relish.**

Lucy unlocked the door to her quiet apartment, shoulders slumping as she slipped into the darkness. Her keys clattered in the bowl by the door, a hollow sound she'd never really noticed before. For the first time all day she was alone, the silence wrapping around her like a blanket.

It should have been comforting, after a long day of prying but well meaning questions from the Callaghan women. They wanted all the details. Did Peter sweep you off your feet? Has he taken you to Paris? When did you fall in love? And the worst one… How did he propose? Every time she was given the opportunity to recant, to confess her horrible lies, some affectionate pat on the shoulder, a twinkle in an old woman's eye, _something_ would stop her. She didn't want to disappoint these kind hearted people.

The fact that they were so trusting, so easily deceived bothered her too. She wouldn't have felt nearly as bad perpetuating the falsehood if they hadn't welcomed her with open arms. Why couldn't they be the kind of people that hassled future in-laws? They were too kind.

Except Jack. He had his own suspicions, that was certain, but Lucy wasn't quite sure what those were. She wondered idly if Jack thought she was some sort of gold-digger. The thought made her smile. She was digging for treasure, hopelessly clawing for it, but it wasn't money she was interested in. Peter meant something else to her, something she would be terribly embarrassed to articulate out loud.

Lucy should have been angry that Jack had been snooping around, but it was impossible for her to muster any kind of indignation. He was totally on track with his suspicions, and if it had been for the fortuitous encounter with Peter's pencil wielding colleague, her stupid game would have been completely sunk.

Still, she found herself smiling. There was something about Jack that drew her to him, and it wasn't the same magnetic pull she felt for the rest of his family, it was definitely a creature of a different sort, the kind that set butterflies to fluttering in her stomach when he said her name, imbuing it with a hint of wonder. The soft, not quite gravelly, tone did the strangest things to her.

More than anything though, Jack amused her. Countless times in their short acquaintance she'd felt her cheeks tighten as an inescapable smile spread across her face, a little laugh bubbling up to the surface, warm and tingling as it broke free. How did he do that? He was so bumbling in his attempts to unveil her deception, she found it endearing rather than threatening.

Today though, he'd come startlingly close to the truth, even if his evidence had been somewhat off. She snorted, stifling a laugh at the memory of Jack hurling Joe Fusco's name at her. Oh, poor Joey, was it so ridiculous that someone could be with him?

As amusing as it was, the information Jack had gleaned made her nervous. She was very close to losing the family she'd gained.

She leaned forward, bumping her head against the wall in her tiny foyer. The Callaghan's were not her family. They were nothing to her. She had to tell them the truth and then disengage from this potentially hurtful charade. The mere thought had tears pricking at the back of her eyes, the loneliness creeping up against her back again.

A knock on the door behind her startled her from her melancholy thoughts. Who would be bothering her at this hour? She groaned, knowing only one person harassed her on a consistent basis. She reluctantly turned, eyeing the doorknob. If she was going to cut the Callaghans loose, it would probably be best to keep the few people who cared about her. Even if this particular person annoyed the hell out of her.

She grasped the knob, and swung it open, Joe's face filling her vision briefly before he pushed past her into the apartment, mumbling something about being 'stood up,' his hands thrown up dramatically to emphasize his point. This was going to be a fun conversation. She shut the door and followed him, casting her eyes heavenward, praying for the patience of a saint. To think, only seconds before she'd actually felt sorry for this unbearable man.

XXXX

Lucy was frazzled, first Joe's nonsensical rant about icecapades, then Saul inexplicably showing up to let her know that he'd heard everything she'd said to Peter, her mortifying confession to an unconscious man. She felt a little sick, even though he'd assured her he wouldn't say anything. It didn't help. She had no idea what Saul saw in her, or how he could see any merits in upholding this lie, but having a confidante somehow made the whole thing worse.

A heavy thump coming from the direction of her closet caught her attention, and she sprinted toward it, flinging the door open. "What are you doing!"

"I slipped…"

She tried not to laugh, instead schooling her face into well deserved outrage. Joe was frozen in place, his mouth hanging open, a look of absolute mortification in his eyes. Her delicate dress shoes clutched in his meaty paws, the tips of his huge toes just beginning to slide into them. "You're trying on my shoes!"

Joe fumbled for an excuse, while Lucy tried to process the scene in front of her. This could very well explain a few things about her neighbor. Her shoe clattered to the floor as he scrambled to his feet, but before he could continue his pathetic explanation, a knock sounded on the door again.

For someone who considered herself to be all alone, she sure had a unbelievable amount of people knocking at her door. This was getting ridiculous. This time she called out, not willing to open her door to yet another unwanted guest. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Jack Callaghan." The deep timbered voice she's been so recently contemplating floated through the paneling of her door. She groaned. This was the last person she needed to see, especially not with this tiny gorilla of a man lurking at her side. She ushered Joe back into her closet, none too gently (he was surprisingly compliant despite his protests), and dashed to the door.

She took a deep breath, fidgeting with the flyaways framing her face before she could muster the courage to grasp the knob. Swinging the door open, she felt surprisingly at ease. There was something about Jack that made her comfortable, enough to poke at him a little. Smirking, she said, "Hi… So, more questions?"

She was secretly pleased by the flash of guilty that momentarily clouded his eyes, and the speed with which that guilt was replaced by a contrite little smile made her feel a little lightheaded.

"No, I have an engagement present for you." HIs eyebrows shot up a little when he said the word 'engagement' but he was otherwise able to conceal his previous incredulousness.

Damn it. Now she was the one afflicted with a wave of guilt. She looked away from him, picking at the peeling paint along her doorjam. "Uh...you really shouldn't have." She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, unconsciously worrying at it.

She didn't catch Jack's adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, or his chest rising as he took a deep breath. "I didn't. It's from my parents. It's furniture. You want me to bring it up?"

She was a little relieved, although she couldn't pinpoint why it would have been so disappointing for Jack to have gotten her an engagement present. She supposed there was a tiny part of her that liked this little war she had with him, picking at him when she had the chance, and vice versa. She could even feel the warmth creeping back into her cheeks as she looked at him again. "Oh…"

Her words deserted her, distracted as she was by the air inexplicably crackling around her, by her eyes' newfound tendency to wander to Jack's lips when she thought he wasn't looking. What was happening here? This wasn't the dreamy longing she'd felt when she'd seen Peter the first time, casually strolling down the sidewalk to the train. She'd thought for the longest time that that's what love at first sight felt like, and perhaps it was, but suddenly it felt trivial in comparison to the heady feeling starting to engulf her.

Jack's eyes darted back and forth, uncomfortable with the silence between them. "Uh.. was that Saul I saw leaving?"

Saul? Everyone in this family, friends or otherwise, just had the worst damn timing. Her mouth opened, but before she could utter a innocent denial, a fairly loud thumping noise carried into the foyer.

Jack heard it too, his curiosity piquing as he leaned forward a little. "Was that…?"

The scent of his cologne, something light that reminded her of fresh linens and the cold air immediately after it snowed, wafted up to her nostrils. The man was getting too close, in more ways than one. She uttered the first excuse that came to her mind. "Cat."

"Big cat." There it was again, his soft and totally non-confrontational disbelief.

She nodded, in the back of her mind cursing this particular 'big cat.' If she came home to a closet full of stretched out shoes, she was definitely having his father take the cost out of her rent. She had to get out of here before Joe came lumbering out into the open, ruining everything. "Um.. I think you should bring it to Peter's apartment."

"You don't know what it is."

"Well, you know, anything would look nicer in Peter's apartment." She laughed nervously, her fingers once again finding the doorjam. She suddenly felt claustrophobic, and would do anything to escape the confines of her Joe-infested apartment. "You know what? I'll come with you."

She quickly slipped out into the hall, staying any further protests Jack may have had. It was only after they'd taken a few steps, Jack's hand unconsciously finding it's way to the back of her elbow where it hovered protectively, that she realized she was still in the company of the source of her anxiety.

It wasn't just Jack's suspicion, either, but rather the giddiness that made her breathless sometimes when he dropped his guard and actually smiled at her. It was the soft way he said her name while looking away thoughtfully. She should have been running in the other direction, looking for an escape from this potentially sticky situation, but she was still trapped in the mire of her deceit. Like every decision she'd made since pulling Peter off the tracks, this one was fueled by two things. Her need to keep the Callaghans happy, and her own need to be close to someone. Only, the 'somone' in question had changed, and she wasn't sure what to do about it. She gave in and sank deeper.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I thought i would be tired of this by now, but i'm not. :D No one seems to be reading it, buuuuut, I like writing it for my own pleasure. I think it's because I've always wanted someone like Jack Callaghan. Damn romantic comedies for getting my hopes up. This wasn't the first and it won't be the last.**

He helped her into the truck like a gentleman, letting her grasp his shoulder for support as she clambered up into the high seat. He wasn't sure how he felt about taking her back to Peter's place, being in that particular space with her was probably not a good idea. It definitely wouldn't be good for the jealousy lurking so close to the surface. He really didn't want to feel this way about his brother. But, it was hard to deny her anything, especially when she gazed up at him, eyes sparkling like he held the key to something she really wanted.

So, instead of halting things like he should have, offering to make the delivery himself, insisting that she stay home, get some rest, he found himself trotting around the back of the big delivery truck, the wintry Chicago air whipping at his skin as he reached the driver's side door. The handle was icy against his fingers as he jerked it open, hauling himself into the seat next to her.

"This should be quick. I'll have you back home in no time."

She merely nodded, sliding the buckle of her seat-belt into its home with an audible click. Jack started the truck, grateful that he didn't have to wait for it to warm up, having idled in front of her building for a good twenty minutes before collecting the wherewithal to do what needed to be done. He pulled out of the spot immediately.

The sound of the engine humming, an almost unnoticeable catch in the timing, was the only thing to draw Jack's attention from the quiet person next to him. But it didn't hold his attention for long. The silence made him fidgety, reminding him of another ride not so long ago. There was no radio to fill the air this time. He tapped on the steering wheel anyway, in time to some unheard cadence.

He felt a pressure in his chest, building like a balloon being slowly inflated past capacity,, trying to push past his ribcage. He knew he should say something, that she was probably still irritated with him for his accusations at the hospital, and rightly so. It was hard to formulate an apology for his actions, when he didn't have a real handle on his motivations. He just blurted it out. "I'm sorry."

The words came out on the tail of a long sigh, the balloon in his chest deflating. He tore his eyes away from the street for a moment to look at her, guage her reaction. He lips were pressed together tightly, the corners of her mouth pinching a little. Jack couldn't tell if she was trying not to smile, or thinking of some retort to put in him his place.

He was saved from the agony of uncertainty when her eyes crinkled, the smile breaking through to the surface. Relief surged through him, so unexpected that it made him a little breathless and he immediately looked back to the road, pretending to be very interested in the yellow and white marks zipping by them.

"Sorry for what, Jack?"

So, she wasn't letting him off the hook entirely, she wanted to draw it out a bit, get him to rehash his idiotic behavior. That was fine. He supposed she deserved that much. "For the whole, Joe Fusco thing, back at the hospital. I didn't know what I was thinking."

She laughed. "Poor Joey. He's really not that bad. He'll make some girl who really likes muscle cars and poorly dubbed kung fu movies really happy one day."

He hazarded another glance in her direction. This time she was staring off into the night, her head tilted against the passenger side window, breath fogging up the glass a little with each tiny exhalation. She was so magnanimous with people, even Joe Fusco, who had outright lied to a complete stranger in regards to her. Hell, her acceptance of Jack's apology was proof enough of her willingness to give people another chance. He hated that this was just another thing to add to the growing well of affection he felt for her. He sighed, this time looking back to the road to keep from saying something he would surely regret.

She didn't even notice his inability to respond, continuing her thought. "It's all a big act. He's really just a lonely idiot, too insecure to be genuine." She sighed. "Loneliness makes people do stupid things."

Jack's breathing faltered once again, hearing the wistful tone in her last comment. Did she regret getting engaged to Peter? Did she regret the whole relationship? He wanted to stop the truck, and grab her, shake her until she admitted this whole thing with Peter was a mistake. She was not the kind of person that belonged with Peter, damn it all, she deserved so much more than a shallow commitaphobe with admittedly good hair.

Her words echoed in his ears. _Loneliness makes people do stupid things. _Was that what he was doing? Was he so lonely that he was actually contemplating stealing his brothers fiance? It was so ridiculous, but he couldn't continue lying to himself. That was exactly what he wanted, and maybe his loneliness did play a part in it. Sure, he had his family, saw them on a daily basis, felt the warmth of their love each night as he hugged his mother, his father's hand clapping him on the back.

He was blessed, thanked God each night, saying a rote prayer memorized when he was a boy, but he couldn't say that he didn't feel alone. His big empty house, paid for by the wonderfully lucrative family business, echoed at night when no one else was around. He'd never really thought about the sound of his own footsteps coming down the hall being the only thing he would hear until the next day, when his alarm would blair at six am.

That is, until her. Lucy had waltzed into his life, making everything he'd been content with seem so empty. Now each night was a torturous eight hours spread out before him. A time to be bided until he could get up the next morning and promptly leave his cold room. The worst part was the dreams that would inevitably overtake him when he finally closed his eyes. He'd kissed her in his dreams, many times finding the courage to walk up to her and take her face in his hands, to finally feel her soft skin against the pads of his thumbs, her silken hair threading between his fingers. Her lips tasted like almonds and honey in his dreams, the scent of flowers wafting up from her hair as he clutched at her. It was ridiculous. His conscience never quite let him get past kissing her, waking up panting and alone somewhere around three am. The devil's hour.

He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, concentrating on keeping his foot steady at the accelerator. No, his newfound loneliness was not going to make him do something stupid. "I guess I can't blame the guy. In his own weird way he may have been looking out for you."

He took the last turn toward Peter's apartment, feeling somewhat relieved with the large brick structure came into view. This night was almost over, and he could return to his big empty house. He didn't want to think about the dreams he would have tonight, they were certain to be different than any of the ones before.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Scene by scene I carry on. I loooove this pairing. I cannot stop. Eventually I'll get to the end. Who knows when (btw, i have severe writer's block regarding the other currently active fic i'm writing, soooorry :O) As always, comments and reviews are appreciated. :D**

Lucy stood shivering at the curb, watching Jack grasp the handle of the huge sliding door. He grunted as he hoisted the thing up. Forgetting her criticism of his parking abilities, she found herself observing him appreciatively. For the first time she allowed herself to to acknowledge her attraction to the man. And wasn't it strange? He was nothing like any of the slick corporate type men she'd mooned over so shamelessly in the past. He was just your average Chicagoan with kind eyes, and a soft smile. And, maybe he was a little more than average in certain departments. He certainly filled out his jeans rather nicely.

"Ready for your surprise?" He looked down at her eagerly, pausing dramatically before saying, "Ta-da!"

Lucy snapped out of her thoughts, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Get a grip, Luce. This is highly inappropriate. He's your imaginary fiance's brother. Great, now she was talking to herself. She tried valiantly to refocus her attention.

There was a quaint yet beautiful rocking chair filling her vision. So simple really, but something about it spoke to Lucy. It reminded her of her childhood home, sitting down by the fireplace, while her father rocked her, reading to her. "It's great. It is so great."

Jack reached for her, innocently offering her his hand. She took it without thinking, and he pulled her up into the truck. She gained her footing, and wondered if it would be insanely weird for her to just keep his hand for a minute. Yes. It would be very odd. She regretfully released him.

"You like that?" He nodded to the chair curiously. He sounded a bit surprised, standing a bit back from her, watching as she admired the piece of furniture.

She smiled. Why wouldn't she like it? It was beautiful, and so obviously handmade, she almost felt guilty about accepting such a generous present, but not guilty enough to say no. Suddenly it was very important that she have this rocking chair. "Yeah."

He smiled, this time a little mischievous glint in his eye. Lucy felt warm, the near freezing air not enough to keep the blood from chasing along the surface of her skin. How did he do that?

He interrupted her contemplation. "Well too bad, Ox got you the loveseat." He chuckled a little, the smile slow to leave his face as he gestured to the dark green patterned overstuffed piece of furniture.

Lucy was almost ok with not getting the beautiful rocking chair, gifted instead with the sound of Jack's laughter, something she'd had little opportunity to hear in the past. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He paused, taking a tiny fortifying breath before continuing. "I made this." His words came out like a confession, pregnant with anticipation, as though it wasn't something he shared with people all that often, at least not unprompted.

"You made this? No, you didn't." Lucy ran her fingers along the smooth wood, marveling at the polished surface. She could see the seams where the slats fit together, but they were undetectable to the touch.

"Shocking, isn't it?"

He'd made this? For some reason the idea awed her. Who knew there were men out there, attractive single men, who did things like this? She was so used to the power brokers flashing pearly smiles at her while they chattered away on their cell phones, absentmindedly flicking a token under her window as they continued on with their fast paced lives. The 'Peters' she'd allowed herself to become enamored with off and on. She was beginning to realize how silly her infatuations were. "Can I sit in it?"

He nodded. "Rock out."

She laughed at his dorky turn of phrase, eagerly sliding into the seat. Looking up at him, she was struck by an unexpected wave of longing. Here was a man, who made things with his hands, put love and a caring attention to detail into something that he created. He took the time to sand out the bumps, smooth away the defects, stain the wood to an even and beautiful chocolatey hue.

She wanted Jack to lean down, smile at her as he gently took her face in his hands. She wanted to know how it felt to have his lips pressed against her own, the slight stubble tickling her skin. She couldn't even push away the longing with thoughts of Peter and his family. She felt powerless against it as an unreserved smile spread across Jack's face, and he bashfully tucked his hands into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders as if none of it were a big deal.

She looked away quickly, returning her attention back to the fine grained wood beneath her fingertips. The amorphous attraction she'd been feeling for Jack had suddenly taken on a much more defined shape. Maybe what she was feeling for him was just as shallow as whatever she had felt for Peter, but each time she was in Jack's proximity she felt giddy, a falling sensation flipping her stomach. Was it love? Impossible, wasn't it? But hell, the way he looked down at her made anything seem possible.

She rocked back and forth slightly, her thoughts slowly turning back to the object she was supposed to be pathing attention to. It really was wonderful, the kind of workmanship you just didn't see any more. Everyone cluttering their home with poorly made Ikea imitations these days. "My God, this is great. You should go into business or something."

"Well, that get's tricky." He drew out the first word, turning to sit on the loveseat across from her. The look of disappointment and indecision that flashed across his features pained her.

She'd spoken the words before realizing their full import. As usual she'd stuck her foot in her mouth. "Oh yeah, working with your dad and everything, right?" Duh, of course. Now she felt bad, fidgeting with her hands, looking away from him once again.

She listened carefully to his response, taking in the extreme sense of familial obligation that Jack had saddled upon himself, feeling like he had to take up Peter's slack, and now that the family business seemed to rest entirely on his shoulders. "The business was _Callaghan and Sons, _then it was _Callaghan and Son_. If I were to leave, it would just be _Callaghan._"

Jack's unhappiness was a tangible thing for Lucy, and yet his loyalty to his family, his love for his father was something she understood. That was the thing about having such a large group of people who loved you. It meant there were more people to disappoint, more people who relied on you. She respected Jack, even as she ached for his predicament. "I would give you some great advice, but I can't say I know a whole lot about familial obligations."

The air was thick, the atmosphere shifting once again between them. Jack looking at her like she was some china doll he wanted to wrap in packing material. She was the first to break their somewhat intense staring contest, taking a sudden interest in the strap holding the rocking chair to the wall of the truck.

He cleared his throat, a gruff little cough finally breaking the weird tension. "Well, get used to it. You're gonna be a Callaghan soon anyway, so take notes." He levered himself up off the loveseat, shuffling around indecisively for a minute, he dug around in the recesses of the truck to find the furniture dolly. He lifted the ugly loveseat, trying fruitlessly to kick the wheeled device underneath it. He grunted. "As soon as you two say your I-do's, Ma'll be interrogating you about grandchildren."

Lucy laughed. She was beginning to think more and more about being a Callaghan. She would be fine if she never had a moment's solitude again. She could imagine a few little Callaghans running circles around her as she decorated a christmas tree. One particular Callaghan smiling fondly down on her as she drifted off to sleep at night.

Unfortunately, it wasn't Peter she was thinking about, and she wasn't entirely sure if the other Callaghans would ever speak to her again once they learned of her deceit. She sighed. "Let me help you with that. You're gonna throw your back out or something."

She lifted one end and the dolly slide smoothly underneath it. "Perfect." He leaned back, proudly eyeing their handiwork.

She nodded, watching as he stretched a little, making sure he hadn't actually hurt himself. "Yeah, perfect."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm loving this. That is all. :D I really appreciate those that have taken the time to leave a comment, it's really encouraging to me. (if you have any suggestions, those would be welcome as well)**

Getting the sofa up to the apartment wasn't hard. The well oiled casters on the furniture dolly glided smoothly across the marble floor of the lobby, and the tacky green loveseat fit comfortably in the elevator, the shiny steel doors reflecting the upholstery back at Jack and Lucy. They didn't encounter a problem until they reached the door to Peter's apartment.

Either the door was smaller than average, or whoever designed the loveseat just wanted to make movers lives unnecessarily difficult. Jack and Lucy maneuvered the thing every which way trying fit through the entrance. Brute force seemed to be the only option left.

Jack squatted on the side of the sofa still sticking out in the hall, peeking up over the overstuffed arm to glance at Lucy's flushed face, an amused smile curling the corners of her mouth, the chuckle she'd just let escape still made his ears tingle. "Why don't you step back for a little bit? I'm gonna try an old trick."

She stepped back a little, giving him room to do whatever it was he had up his sleeve. He would know when it came to moving furniture, it was his business after all. She crossed her arms, and looked at him curiously. "What's the trick?"

He looked at her, absolutely serious, his clear eyes giving her a once over before one corner of his mouth hitched up into a smirk. "Push it _really _hard."

She snorted, involuntarily. Jack and levity were a good combination. She could definitely get used to the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his whole face transformed when he was being silly. Her cheeks ached from trying to suppress a full blown grin. "Okay."

He disappeared once again, his head dipping below the arm of the loveseat as he braced his shoulder against it. She waited, expecting something, a sound of some sort at least, but nothing happened. "Okay, push."

Then she did hear it, a little puff of air blown out in frustration. "I did."

He stood back up, looking at her sheepishly, the smirk still playing at his lips. He shrugged, staring at the furniture in front of him, somewhat perplexed. And there it was again, the little giddy feeling in her chest, a slight fluttering that made her feel like she just had to say something, laugh, make some kind of noise to dissolve the butterflies. She smiled involuntarily, this time drawing her bottom lip between her teeth to control the expression somewhat. "Do you want me to help you… now?"

She'd learned to tread lightly with men like Joe Fusco, and the constant stream of machismo she encountered each day at the train station. Men's egos were so easily bruised, and she wasn't sure what kind of guy Jack was, but she had learned it was best to avoid those types altogether. She had her fingers crossed that Jack wasn't one of them.

He looked at her quizzically, as if wondering what took her so long to volunteer her assistance. Nodding already in answer to her question, he said, "Alright, a little help would be good."

Of course he would look at her with a soft expression on his face, the motion of his nodding head setting his sandy blond hair to bobbing. She wanted to run her fingers through it, drag her nails along his scalp as she pulled him toward her. She thought maybe he was the kind of man who would shiver slightly as she tugged along the hair along his nape, a shiver she could feel through his lips against her own.

She slammed on the breaks, dropping her gaze back to her crossed arms, feeling a warmth in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't felt in so long. It was like she'd been asleep for years, and was now being woken up in the most pleasant way possible, but it was all to no avail. Nothing could happen here. She swallowed resolutely. "Okay."

She wasn't sure if she was answering her own melancholic thoughts, or Jack's request for help. Either way, she leaned forward, grasping the arm of the seat, bracing herself for Jack's signal.

On three he pushed, and she pulled, and something snapped. The loveseat went sailing through the open door, Lucy flailing as she stumbled backwards into an unfortunately placed table. She winced as she heard the distinct sound of glass breaking, groaning as she saw the shattered vase, a strangely blue liquid pouring out onto Peter's pristine white carpet.

She felt Jack come up behind her, the heat at her back something she couldn't ignore. The warmth of his words skittering along her ear when he spoke. "I think the sofa should go right there."

The amusement in his voice triggered her own, the giddy feeling her chest once again making an appearance. A short giggle burst from her lips when she thought of the tacky piece of furniture inexplicably sitting in the middle of Peter's almost hideously modern apartment. "Sure."

She stepped forward and started picking up the glass, carefully collecting the biggest shards between the tips her fingers. She inhaled sharply as a fine edge slice along the pad of her index finger.

Jack was at her side before she could even say anything, taking the offending glass from her hands and depositing it in the bin before returning to her side. He cradled her hand gently in his own, focusing all his attention on the small little cut. Honestly she'd had papercuts that were worse, but her ability to speak had momentarily abandoned her, the breath catching in her chest completely. Jack pulled her over to the sink, running the water for a second before plunging her finger beneath the stream.

They were close, leaning together over the kitchen counter, breaths mingling. She could feel his chest rising and falling against her arm, his body heat seeping through the canvas coat he wore, the scent of his mellow cologne filling her head. It would be so easy to lean into him, tilt her head up slightly and finally figure out just what it would feel like to kiss Jack Callaghan.

Jack turned his head slightly and caught her staring. He stared back for a second, thoughts astonishingly similar to Luchy's echoing in his brain. He cleared his throat instead. "Should have used a dust pan, just swept the whole mess up."

She nodded, mind jumping around. She didn't even know where to find a dust pan here. Pulling her hand out from under the water, she shifted slightly away from Jack, feeling bereft at the absence of his touch. She focused her attention on her injury. "Look, it's not even bleeding any more. I think it'll be fine."

She held up her hand between them, consciously creating a barrier between their bodies, trying to get her own physical response to him under control. Her plan backfired almost immediately when Jack took her hand once again, this time under the pretence of examining her cut.

He liked her hands, delicate and soft, so often encased in gloves when he saw her, fending off the cold Chicago winter. He couldn't stop himself, he drew her hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss along her knuckles, allowing himself for a moment to get lost in the feel of her skin against his. When he withdrew, she was staring at him wide eyed. He swallowed. "Ma always used to do that, when we were kids. She'd say, 'No better medicine than a kiss.'"

He dropped her hand, feeling horribly embarrassed. He couldn't take the soft look she was giving him. Somehow it conveyed a million things and nothing all at once. He spun away from her, mumbling nonsense about falling off his bike when he was a kid. He quickly disappeared through the door to Peter's utility room, coming back with a broom and dust pan.

They quietly cleaned up the rest of the mess, Lucy taking a minute to hunt down the cat and feed it before they left. They rode the elevator in silence, things only a little awkward. It could have been worse. She could have pushed him away, appalled that he would take such liberties with her. But her non-reaction was almost as bad. It allowed Jack hope, the last thing he needed in regards to her.

Now, more than ever, he wanted Peter to wake up. He wouldn't feel nearly as bad competing for Lucy's affections if his brother were conscious. Here, with hope beating in his chest, he was afraid that was exactly what was going to happen.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This chapter's a little longer than usual. Forgive me if I seem to just be writing what happens in the movie. I have a very specific point I want to get to, wherein things will be different than the movie. Also, I just love how simple the movie is, and how much is left up to the audience at certain moments. As always, if you would like to leave a comment, please feel free. I do appreciate anyone taking the time to leave feedback.**

Jack stared in frustration at his father's truck. He was blocked in, the bumper of someone's sedan very nearly pressed up against the back of it. He blew out a puff of air, flipping the hair out of his face as he racked his brain for a solution. Nothing.

"Hey, Check the meter, see what time they have left." Maybe they could wait it out, go back up to Peter's apartment for a while, maybe test out that loveseat. The idea was more than tempting. He told himself it was simply because he wanted to make sure her engagement present was a quality piece, not because he wanted Lucy to take off the baggy trench coat and slip in next to him, curl up on the little sofa while they watched tv. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would fit perfectly under his arm, her head nestled up against his chin.

She chuckled at his hopeful tone. Who was the native Chicagoan here? Surely he knew how the meter's in the city worked. "Um, it's six, they can pretty much stay here all night if they want to."

"All night, huh?" He knew that, of course. His shoulders fell. So they were stranded on the cold streets of Chicago after dark. He was a little embarrassed by his lack of forethought, and lapsed into awkward silence, staring at the asphalt at his feet.

Lucy shifted her weight from one foot to another, keeping up her movement to stave off the cold. Maybe it would be best to just get a move on. She'd gotten entirely too close to Jack this evening, her physical reaction warring with her good sense. "Um… good night."

His head popped up, eyes searching her face. She looked a little uncertain, as though maybe she didn't exactly want to leave him. His heart picked up it's pace a little, his traitorous lips twitching up in a half-smile. "You just gonna leave me here with the truck?" He gestured to the hulking vehicle behind me.

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. She adopted her best matter of fact tone, and looked at him in faux seriousness. "Basically, yeah."

"Well, maybe I oughta walk you back."

His voice was soft, the kind offer posed more as a question than a suggestion. Lucy could feel the warmth seeping back into her cheeks, and prayed there wasn't a visible blush there. She couldn't let him affect her this way, so she looked away. "What for?"

"For protection."

Protection? Jack wanted to protect her. It was the sensible thing, she knew. As a woman, walking the streets of Chicago at night wasn't the most desirable things to do, and it was his fault that she was in this position, but she still felt a thrill at the words. He wanted to protect her. This is what it felt like to be cared for.

Her throat constricted, and she was grateful for the darkness around him. Maybe he couldn't see the surprising sheen of tears in her eyes. She couldn't let herself get used to this. It was only a matter of time before the soft expression on his face when he looked at her was replaced by disgust. Better to cut this out before it went too far. "Oh no, I'm fine. I'm ok."

It took a lot to say those words, her heart begging her to just give in for the moment, but she remained steadfast, hoping he would just let it go. He didn't. He continued to smile at her, the brisk night air buffeting his hair, the strands poking out at odd angles. "Protection for me. I don't want to be here by myself. This is Chicago."

She laughed. How could she say no to him? He needed her protection from possible threats lurking in the shadows. She pressed her lips together, fighting the smile waiting to come out of hiding. Tucking her hands in her pockets, she turned slightly away from him, silently beckoning him with the motion of her head. "Okay."

Letting out a satisfied sigh, he fell in step behind her. There hadn't been a chance in hell that he was going to let her walk home alone. The very idea of something happening to her twisted his stomach in knots, a cold little knot of fear settling in his chest. No, Lucy would not be walking the streets at night alone, not when he was here.

xxx

The closer they got the Chicago River, the colder it seemed, damp gusts occasionally coming at them. He wanted to feel bad, parking like an idiot so they had to walk, but it was hard to when he had Lucy strolling beside him, the Michigan Avenue Bridge in the distance, lights twinkling. The city was so beautiful at night, especially this time of year, lights still strung in the trees along the walk.

He looked back down at her, enjoying the way her eyes seemed to be lit from within as she took in their surroundings. She tucked her gloved hands under her arms, drawing slightly into herself, and a little bit of guilt found its way back into Jack. "You look cold."

She turned to him slightly, attention drawn away from whatever had produced the dreamy expression on her face. "Huh?"

Her cheeks were pink from the chilly air, her hair falling from the confines of her tie just a little, framing her face perfectly. "You look…" Beautiful. It hit him unexpectedly, although he didn't know why. It's not like he'd never noticed how attractive she was, but suddenly her beauty was a tangible thing washing over him, trapped as he was by her direct gaze. "... cold."

She laughed, the bright sound he'd began to crave filling his ears. "Probably because I _am _cold. How about you?"

"This jacket's reversible. I'm wearing the warm side now." He cringed inwardly. He said the lamest things around her in an effort to make her laugh.

She should have rolled her eyes at him, ignored his bungling attempts at humor, but instead she laughed again, this time an almost girlish giggle escaping her parted lips. "Oh, I see."

He stepped back a little, for the first time really looking at the oversized coat she always wore. It was old and worn out, and much thinner than winters in Chicago warranted. "You need a better coat." Concern tinged the edge of his words, revealing yet again his instinctive need to look after her.

Lucy's gait slowed to a stop and she turned toward him, eyes full of affection. For him?

"This was my dad's." Her voice was soft, yet happy, as she finger the lapel of the trench coat.

The love shining in her eyes wasn't for him, it was for her father. Jack mentally made himself take a step back. Reign it in, buddy. He tried to get back to familiar territory. "Ah, then he's probably freezing."

"He passed away."

She was quiet, three little words so incredibly weighted. It wasn't quite pain that he heard in her voice, but something much more layered. Regret, love, resignation. He wanted more than anything to pull her into his arms. Instead he offered her a stilted apology. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault. He passed away last year. I don't even remember my mom."

Again, her voice carried a complex tapestry of emotions, and Jack wanted nothing more than to gather her up, promise that she didn't have to be alone. He was falling so hard, so fast, it scared him a little. He should probably just let this go. Finding out more about her was doing nothing to keep his burgeoning affection in check. "Well, what was he like?" So much for letting it go.

He looked at her expectantly, somewhat afraid that she might not want to talk about this as they walked alongside the river, the grief possibly being too fresh to bring out in the open, but her expression lightened somewhat, the smallest of grins curving her lips upward. "He was a lot like me. Dark hair, flat chest."

He laughed, the sound pouring out of him in relief and amusement as she cast a sidelong glance in his direction. He was beginning to understand why she laughed at all of his lame jokes, apparently they're sense of humor was very similar. He probed further. "What do you remember most about him?"

As they continued to walk, their hard soled shoes tapped out a pleasant rhythm along the pavement. Jack settling into this comfortably slow pace, taking in the other pedestrians enjoying the beautiful night, one couple in particular enjoying it more than most, pressed up against the railing, kissing as though no one else existed.

"Oh _that_. Okay." She giggled, feigning sudden clarity. "Um, well, he liked maps."

"Yeah, I live by maps, my truck's filled with them." His reply was slightly distracted, glancing once more at the couple along the railing, before looking at his surroundings again. He supposed this was a pretty romantic spot, especially at night like this, all the twinkling lights, the cold air encouraging couples to seek warmth from one another.

If Lucy were just some girl he'd met on the train, some sweet passerby he'd struck up a friendly conversation with, and they'd ended up out here, would that have been them against the railing? He knew the only thing stopping him from pulling her aside and wrapping his arms around her was Peter, and with each passing second his restraint dissolved a little.

She continued to talk about her father. "He used to hear of a place on TV, we would pull out the atlas, we'd find where it was, and we'd route out this like, little way to get there."

The image of little Lucy, her dark head inclined toward her father's as they poured over a giant atlas filled Jack's mind. A little bubble of warmth forming in his chest as he tried to picture what she looked like as a child, what her children might look like. She was smiling as she recounted the places they'd planned to go. "If there were one place in the world you'd go, where'd-"

Hopping up and down, she interrupted him. "Florence!" The lights in her eyes intensified, her excitement bubbling up and out of her as she bounced on her heels.

He stopped briefly to look at her, enjoying the pleasure on her face. Bashfulness crept back into her as she realized how enthusiastic her reply had been. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing her like this, of hearing her chat about the things she loved. "Italy. Oh, I haven't delivered any furniture to Florence yet, but I'm told it's nice."

"Yeah." She sighed out the word, the dreamy expression returning once again to her eyes.

"I take it you've never been there." Something told him Florence was a dream for Lucy, something she thought about sitting in the booth at the train station, a far off fantasy.

"Well, you know, the El doesn't exactly make it all the way to Florence."

No, it certainly didn't. Did Lucy feel trapped here? Chicago was his home, but there had always been a part of him afflicted by wanderlust, something he'd never been able to give in to. Too many responsibilities. Jack didn't really know what to say, too afraid that his own disappointment would bring the conversation to a grinding halt.

Luckily, Lucy saved him from his thoughts. Excitedly, she said, "Oh, but I do have…" She paused, digging through the bag draped across her front. Clutching tightly to a small square object, she withdrew her hand, dramatically waving it in front of him. "...my passport."

"You- you have your passport… with you?" He pulled his gloveless hands from his pockets, taking the thing from her. He laughed. Her enthusiasm was so endearing.

"Well, just in case I quickly need to leave the country, you need a -"

He laughed at the image of Lucy fleeing the country, dark Jackie-O sunglasses perched on her nose, a black scarf wrapped around her head.. "Yeah that's perfect. It's great." He weighed the little booklet in his hand, opening it to flip through it's pages, finally settling on the one with her face gracing it. She smiled broadly at the camera, displaying a dimple on one cheek. She was glowing really. Here was a person who could see the world laid out before her, ready to get on with it. He smiled. "Oh, you're right, you're not very photogenic at all."

He couldn't resist ribbing her, feeling rewarded when her mouth dropped open, a little huff of indignation escaping her lips as she snatched the passport from his grasp. He raised his hands in self defense, fending off her ire. "Just joking."

The indignation was quickly replaced by her laughter. Jack marveled at it, only one small niggling thought in the back of his mind holding back his ability to share in her mirth. "They're aren't any stamps in that."

Lucy's face fell when the tentative statement registered. "Yeah, well, I haven't gone anywhere yet." Wistfully she tucked the passport back into her bag. The slight tremulous quality in her voice tore at Jack. "But, I'm planning a trip to Florence really soon, so you know, I'll go."

Somehow he got the feeling that she'd been planning this particular trip indefinitely, and it made him sad, but he wasn't sure how to bring it up. He steered the conversation back to somewhat safer waters. "That'll make your dad proud."

"Yeah." She nodded, thinking about all the trips they'd planned and never gotten to. It had been so long since she'd talked to anyone like this. Her father had been the last person to ever express any real interest in her life. She glanced up at Jack, finding that talking to him wasn't hard. There was an easiness about being with him, as though she'd known him for years. "You know, in a very small way, you kind of remind me of him…" She held up her hand, holding her index finger and thumb about an inch apart to indicate exactly how much. "...a little bit."

"I see." His head snapped up in surprise, a smile playing on his lips. He liked the idea. From what he could tell, she'd loved her father very much. He was definitely not averse to being associated with such a man. "So, he was a classy guy, always a gentleman." A gentleman. Jack swallowed. Upstanding guys didn't try to steal their brother's fiances. He pushed the naysaying voice out of his head "... A working man who-"

"Who just stepped in dog poo." She snorted, backing away from the offending substance.

"Oh!" Whatever heaviness there'd been in the air between them suddenly evaporated. Jack scraped his foot along the pavement, the juvenile humor of his situation taking over, as Lucy burst into a gale of laughter. He found it impossible not to join in.

Between gasps, Lucy reached forward, pulling him away from that side of the pavement. He liked the feel of her hand on his elbow. They picked their pace up, the cold seeping in through their clothes. She leaned into him, this time threading her hand through his arm. "Let's get a move on before we freeze to death."

Jack nodded, high on something he'd never felt before. They marched off in the direction of her apartment, chatting aimlessly about different things. He wanted, no, needed, to know everything about her.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: whoa, it's been a while since I updated this. I promise I haven't forgotten about it. As always, reviews and comments are appreciated like crazy. I love hearing that people are reading the things I write.**

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jack tucking his hands down in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. This part of Chicago was surprisingly quiet at night, the dark and freezing temperatures sending the city's residents huddling into their cozy little homes.

He glanced at Lucy, unable to keep his gaze away from her very long, his throat catching a sigh before it escaped. Just as he was about to look away she glanced up at him, pinning him with a mischievous look. "Ok, your turn."

"My turn?" Suddenly he was nervous, and he couldn't pinpoint why. What would she ask?

Surely her questions would revolve around Peter.

"Yeah. You know way more about me than I know about you. Time to dish out the goods."

He picked up his pace a little, hoping she would match it. Talking about himself wasn't something he liked to do under the best of circumstances, and fielding questions about his brother wasn't something he looked forward to. "Ask away." The response came out a little more gruffly than he'd intended.

She frowned, but increased her pace anyway. "Well… Have you ever thought about leaving Chicago?"

"I can't leave… too many… obligations." He felt hot under the collar, in spite of the frigid air beginning to whip around him. Swallowing, he attempted to dislodge the lump that had settled in his throat.

"Ok, but have you ever _thought_ about it?"

Had he thought about it? Constantly. But it was only in the way you thought about things that would never happen, some hazy fantasy that gets more and more outlandish the longer you think about it, the shackles of reality having no bearing on it, since it could never happen anyway. No one knew. "Uh, yeah, sure… I've thought about it."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Well, I mean, it's not Florence…. but I've always wanted to just take my truck and travel all over the country, looking for interesting pieces, techniques. Visit some of the traditional workshops that still exist in New England." He momentarily forgot his discomfort. "There are twelve defining periods of American Furniture making, Pennsylvania Dutch, Federal, Shaker… Looking at original pieces first hand would be just…" He trailed off, feeling the color rise to his cheeks. He was getting a bit carried away. His hand slipped out of his pocket, finding it's way to the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Anyway, I guess I've thought about it."

She laughed, the sound like spiced honey pooling in the pit of his stomach. "So you have."

The sigh escaped this time. "A lot of thought and no action. I guess it's a good thing you're engaged to Peter and not me." The wistful words tumbled out before his brain had time to process them. He nearly choked trying to clear his throat. "I mean, he'll probably take you to Florence for your honeymoon or something… He's always taking off and going places." His heart fluttered in his chest, suddenly filled with panicked worry that he'd revealed too much.

Her eyes widened before she looked away from him, suddenly finding the cracks in the sidewalk fascinating as her cheeks grew pink. "I guess Peter isn't really tied down to anyone, huh? Not the settling down type."

He stammered, suddenly feeling like he should tread lightly. Peter was just incredibly self involved. He had been his whole life, and Jack didn't bear him any ill feelings for it. It's just the way he was. But it was really hard to look at Lucy and say these things. He wanted Peter to be different, if only for her. "Um, he's just… I mean…"

She smiled up at him sadly, her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something. Her mouth snapped shut and she trudged on.

"I'm sure he'll feel differently… with you." How could he not? Jack couldn't imagine Peter having Lucy at his side, having her in his bed, in his home, and not feeling inextricably connected to her. In the short time that Jack had known her, he'd come to the conclusion that her warm presence was something of an opiate.

Every night he went home, shucked off the day's stress, and told himself: No more Lucy. It was a useless mantra. His house seemed too big, full of rooms he'd probably never use. He'd been hopeful when he bought it, picturing a herd of children running through the halls, big family dinners with aunts and uncles and cousins.

It seemed like an unlikely future these days, but he'd never been afflicted by the ache that filled his chest now. Lucy made it seem so possible and yet impossible at the same time. It wasn't a feeling he liked. He was overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all.

"Would you?" Her question was spoken softly, and Jack barely caught it before the wind swept it away.

His feet stopped moving, shoes seemingly filled with cement. She continued on for a couple steps before realizing how far he lagged behind. Jack felt breathless. It was as though she'd read his mind. What the hell was her game? This wasn't fair. There'd never been a time in his life when anyone had ever picked Jack over Peter, given the choice.

She twisted around to stare at him, a little smile gracing her porcelain features, one corner of her mouth hitched up. "Hypothetically, of course."

He relaxed, hearing the playful note in her voice, and quickly caught back up with her. "Well, hypothetically, I suppose your ability to find my family's annoying quirks endearing would be a plus." He paused, raising both of his hands to make an imaginary frame. "And I think I may have been mistaken before. There might be a few photogenic traits on that face."

She shoved at him. "Hey, you'd be lucky to have this face passed on to your children." She snorted, raising on gloved hand to her nose. "Although, maybe they'd be lucky to get your nose."

He chuckled. "Hey, wait a minute, let me see." Drawing her hand away from her face, he studied the line of her nose, noting the creamy texture of her skin. Oh this was bad. He felt himself falling, the rug being pulled out from under him. He took a shuddering breath and refrained from brushing her skin with his knuckles. "Yeah… my nose would be the best option."

She pulled away from him, laughing breathlessly. "I'll have you know, Eddie Zachary thought I had the cutest nose ever in the fifth grade."

"Did he suffer from undiagnosed myopia? For all I know kids in Wisconsin don't wear glasses." She rolled her eyes at him, setting warmth coursing through him yet again. He'd never have guessed it was the coldest night this winter, his blood heated as it pumped through his veins.

They were nearing familiar surroundings, the brick edifice of her apartment building coming into view. He loathed the idea of seeing her home, returning to his lonely house. "Alright, tell me more. Where did you grow up?"

She rubbed her hands together, tucking them up under her chin for warmth. Her eyes peeked up at him from beneath long sooty lashes. "God, you've just become Mr. Chatty this evening."

It was true, they'd never spoken quite so much. Jack suddenly felt self conscious, his cold fingers making their way to the hair at the back of his neck yet again, a nervous tic he'd developed recently. "The fact of the matter is, I'm about to start shivering and making conversation keeps my face from freezing."

Her tinkling laugh echoed in his ears. God, he'd never get used to it. Freezing was the least of his worries, a pleasurable heat tingling on his skin each time he heard the sound. They slowed to a stop, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk. This was the moment he'd been dreading all the way, and he couldn't help but drag the toe of his boot along the patches of ice on the pavement, silently stalling.

If the feeling in his chest was any indication, he'd been transported back a couple decades, fifteen years old again, at the end of his first date. Every cell in his body wanted to give her a goodbye kiss, the electric impulses darting from his brain to his spine, racing along all the nerves in his body.

He clenched his jaw. That would be a stupid move, one that it would be impossible to come back from. Even if it were possible to write one kiss off as an impulsive mistake, Jack knew he'd never be able to stop at just one kiss.


End file.
